Perfect Set Plans
by Word Player
Summary: Even the perfect plans can go awry, and even more so with less-than-perfect ones. When the Royal Academy doesn't fit Isra's tastes, what will she do to escape the boredom, and how far will she take it?
1. Action

The teenaged girl cast a furtive glance behind her, her eyes narrowed and glaring as she searched the courtyard before turning again to the wicker gate that seemed to cast off her frustrations

The teenaged girl cast a furtive glance behind her, her eyes narrowed and glaring as she searched the courtyard before turning again to the wicker gate that seemed to cast off her frustrations. Her dark hair, long and falling loose from their bindings, fell into her eyes as she worked at the lock with a small pick she had stolen from her tresses. Her blue eyes widened and she quickly turned away and let go of the hairpiece as a green light began to emanate from the keyhole. Shielding her face, she barely saw the bright green flash that indicated the activated magics that protected from intruders.

Damn! She thought, glaring at the thoroughly destroyed pick. She had assumed that the magic would only work if it was someone outside getting in. Glancing around again (Uncle Urza would kill her if he saw this little trick) She put her hand on the warmed metal and frowned, concentrating hard.

Metal magic. What a fitting Gift for a noblewoman. The lock turned easily under her hand and the girl wondered briefly why she hadn't thought of that sooner, throwing a distasteful look at the melted hair decoration on the ground. Not bothering to pick it up, she hoisted up the spare maids outfit she had taken from the supply closet four months ago (It hadn't been missed, and had been put to much use) and slipped out of the side door and into the empty street.

Glancing around, she kept her head down as her cheap leather slippers padded the ground. She kept her pace up and her eyes open as she moved, gripping the darned petticoats tightly as she passed into a poorer district of Corus. Shops and stalls were abundant and despite the markets closing at sundown, there was still a decent amount of people in the streets. Chatting amiably or eating on their front porches.

The girl relaxed visibly and blended into the crowd easily. Quickly being absorbed into the small crowd that passed gently through the streets. This neighborhood wasn't dirty enough to have fights or Rouges lounging around. Even the Kings Watch (an internal police force, central to Corus and the surrounding countryside) normally eased the recruits into Watchlife in the marketplace. It was generally peaceful area, but that didn't stop the girl looking around furtively for any sign of a Watchman as she slipped into the innocent looking bar.

The Redbird was as nice a place you could ask for. Good food, good prices, good service. Nothing about it was dirty in anyway. The girl looked around, noting the large crowd. She frowned as she searched for Val. How on earth did he expect her to find him in this rabble? the noblewoman wondered, pushing through the slightly drunken crowds, ignoring whistles and smiles.

She wasn't beautiful at first glance, or even the second, but if you took the time to look, to note how her cheekbones angled her face, how her lips curved into a perfect cupids- bow, how her brows arched perfectly over outlined blue eyes, one would notice a certain sharp beauty about her. She was stately, as her mother put it, proud, her father would grunt and move on. Urza said she was beautiful.

Suddenly she was turned around by a strong hand on her shoulder. Her eyes widened and she twisted on her heels, barely able to keep her balance as an arm was swung behind her, clutching her waist and leading her purposefully towards a table on the side of the room, out of the large crowd.

Val was large enough to intimidate, but he wouldn't tower over every man in the street. The girl could only glare at him, pursing her lips tightly as she was unceremoniously sat in an empty chair.

"Could you be a bit more gentle?" She hissed, her eyes narrowed as Val called a barmaid over and ordered two ales. "Bruises are going to raise questions."

Val shrugged, not his problem, and smiled at the waitress as she moved away from their table, watching her behind as she moved through the people in the bar. He licked his bottom lip lightly and turned to the girl in front of him, who turned away, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms in a rather prudish manner.

"Done?" She asked, crossing her legs under the table.

"I've only just begun, Shariah." Val smirked, noting with no small amusement how angry the noblewoman got when he began to flirt with the service. The girl nodded at the woman, who deliver their drinks much quicker than she would have thought possible with the crowd.

"Shariah?" the dark haired girl growled, taking her ale, and (without much pretense for a noble) took a large gulp. "Family names, Desmas?"

"Isra." Val said hurriedly, glaring right back at the girl, who had sat back with a satisfied look on her face.

Isra van Izidihar Shariah. Isra, her name, Izdihar, her mothers maiden name, Shariah, her fathers noble name. They were an old blood family, though not of Tortallan descent. One of the Carthaki noble familes, they were very highly regarded, a younger brother even an ambassador to the Court at Corus. Urza zan Shariah, a fourty-two year old man of incredible intellect, containing an astounding amount of patience, diplomacy and logic, despite everything thrown at him, including his elder brothers daughter.

Val smirked, and Isra frowned.

"What?" She asked, putting down her tankard.

"You've forgotten something," He said, smiling and pointing a long, scarred finger at her left hand. Isra, slightly confused, looked down and scowled darkly. That. She quickly took of the jewel and shoved it in her belt purse. Val stared at her hand a moment longer and then looked at Isra.

"Buisness." He said, leaning in and ignoring the glances the barkeep was shooting him, focusing on Isra. The noblewoman smiled and pushed a few more stray bangs out of her hair and crossed her legs. "Anything new being stirred up by the social elite?"

"Nothing." Isra said, sighing dramatically. "They are all a bunch of idiotic, empty-headed, shallow, worthless-"

"I mean the elite that matter." Val said, cutting off the flood of insults that would be sure to follow any mention of her friends at the Royal Academy.

"Their parents are just as dull as they are!" Isra snapped. "Marriages! Money! All that goes on between them is business as well, and none of it interesting." She spat, taking another long drink of her beer.

Val rolled his eyes. Isra was a bit critical at times, but she was really helpful, if she decided to be. To a lower-class Rouge like Val, any help was good help. He and Isra had met when she had first stumbled into Corus, almost a year ago now. Val had tried to steal her purse, but she had caught him, quite easily. She had ordered small metal wires to be woven into all her purses and most of her clothing, and when Val had tried to cut her purse strings, found that instead a few unraveled and cut him first. Isra sighed again and Val looked up from his drink.

"Alright." Isra muttered. "I give. The Faircoves are building a new fort in their fife-"

"Why would I give a damn about their real estate?"

"Shut up!" Isra hissed. "They're building it along the coast, right by that small cove that the Rogues' ships use for a reshipping dock. I'd give it three weeks before someone notices the craft going in and out of the bay. Knowing the Faircoves, I'd give it three days afterwards before they demand a tax on anyone entering the place."

"Mithros curse." Val said, loud enough to attract several stares. That was an essential docking point, and the Baron Faircove wouldn't be bought cheaply, if at all.

"Did the Rouge have someone else at the court?" Isra asked, her eyes searching Val's brown ones before turning to glare at a man who had bumped into her. "A lady-in-waiting to the Princess?"

Val thought and nodded, his brow furrowing.

"That Tharren Peak girl? She was caught steal correspondences from the Princess' drawers and was promptly shown the door, to put it nicely. Although that little priss through quite the tantrum as Leisle managed to sneak a letter to her from a kitchen boy out to the general public. Apparently they've been kissing behind the kitchen for weeks."

The Rouge sighed exasperatedly. "I don't give a damn about the Princess' new toy."

Isra shrugged. "It is a juicy piece of gossip." She said, finishing off her ale and looking around the Redbird. It had only gotten more crowded and more inebriated. Val sat back in his chair, running his hands through his wiry brown-blonde hair.

"That's it?"

The noblewoman glared at Valen. "Yes that's it. It's only been a week, you ninny. And that Faircove bite should get you a decent prize."

Val stood up, not even bothering to acknowledge Isra as she sat there. He began to make his way through the crowd, easily parting the way with his broad shoulders and his dark glare, before Isra jumped up, nearly tripping over her skirts as she slipped in behind him.

"No goodbye?" Isra asked, slipping in front of him, looking up at him and smiling. "And I'll leave first, I don't want to be stuck here a moment more than necessary."

"Bye." Val said gruffly, looking down at Isra, who huffed and skipped out the door. Val looked around and sat by the bar, paying for their drinks. How did she always manage to get out of paying? It wasn't like she didn't come from money.

Out in the street, it had gotten a lot darker and a lot less crowded. Isra kept her head down again, ignoring the few rustles in the shadows outside of the lamplights. The bright, polished, metal bangles on her arms began to warm as she got nervous, her steps hurried as she crossed the bridge to the nobles district.

Here she moved even quicker, keeping to the shadows that only housed little-kid fears. Isra was red in the face by the time she had reached her house, and barely even thought to listen for movement as she opened the unlocked door, slipped inside and locked it (you could lock it easily from the inside, and Isra was annoyed at how much harder it was to get open from the inside). She made it up to her room without incident, the floors too well made to creak and her footsteps to light to cause enough noise on the stone to wake someone.

Groping for the handle of her door in the dim light, Isra quickly entered her room, expecting a few hours rest before she had to silently endure the trials of another day at the Royal Academy. The lights were on, and Isra first saw a pair of boots, a smart pair of carthaki pantaloons and then a long yellow kurta with the Shariah family pattern as a border.

Hag! Isra cursed, looking up into the angry face of her Uncle Urza.

"Dancing practice with the maids?" Isra offered up feebly.

"We will discuss this upon dayrise." Urza said simply, staring unsmilingly down at Isra. "No matter how nocturnal you are, Moonflower, I need sleep."

Moon flower. Isra let out a breath of air as Urza left the room. Moon flower. That meant that he wasn't too mad. She flopped onto the bed. Mad yet.

Oh Hag.

All that meant was that he hadn't found out about Val. Four months of sedition was a long time in jail.


	2. The Boy

Isra stood outside of the Office pulling sheepishly at the expensive silk of her dress

Isra stood outside of the Office pulling sheepishly at the expensive silk of her dress. Oh hag curse it all! She wasn't going to get anywhere like this. She raised her hand and knocked lightly on the wooden door, waiting for an answer that wouldn't scream punishment, severe or otherwise. She only had to wait a few seconds to hear 'Enter' come through the door. Isra did so, and quickly.

Curtsying as she closed the door, she hurried over to stand behind the chair, her downcast eyes letting her long lashes brush against her cheekbones, as she stood in front of Urza. He was looking at her, his arms folded across his chest as he sat back in his chair, putting one leg up on his knee as he stared at his niece.

She was normally a very quiet, subdued thing. This little incident could be called entirely unexpected. Urza looked over the slim, lanky girl, too clumsy and too frail for this large house with all these hard rooms and sharp angles. Nowhere could they find a nicely sloped ceiling or room. No, it had to be precise and rigid, like the Tortallans who lived here. Urza directed his attention back to Isra, who was now clenching her hands behind her back as if awaiting judgment.

"Would you like to explain yourself?" He asked her, pulling back his long hair and tying it neatly with a small length of green ribbon that had been previously used for sealing a letter. He looked up at Isra, staring at the girl as she tried to avoid his gaze.

"Isra."

Names, damn it all. That meant business. The girl raised her eyes and opened her mouth. The best lies were the simple ones.

"I just wanted to go outside." She muttered, her eyes wide. "I hardly ever get to go anywhere but the Academy and whatever social function you push upon me. I just wanted a nice walk." There. Was that so hard to understand?

"You're shoes were worn nearly through."

"I walked for a long time."

"At night?"

"I got a little lost."

Urza stared at Isra, who set her eyes down again, the perfect picture of female modesty. Inside, however, her mind was whirling. Hag take it all! Why was she always caught in these situations? Explaining herself was never her strong point, and especially not when it dealt with such grave things as what she had been undertaking. Her bright eyes flickered up to meet her Uncles, and Urza sighed, sitting back in his chair.

"I'll ask no more questions, despite your garb and breath when you entered" (A maids outfit and reddened cheeks) "Get off to the Academy, and let's have no more walks unsupervised. You can keep your paramour, I'll stay in blissful ignorance." He said, waving her out of the room.

Isra's eyes widened, her cheeks colored and she nearly stammered an excuse before realizing that having Urza think that she was sneaking out to meet some _boy _was better than the truth. She merely bowed, and turned quickly, her bangles making light clinking sounds as she escaped from her Uncles office and fled upstairs to prepare for school within the next watch-hour.

Urza smiled and leaned forward, his expensive silk kaftan rustling as he did so, picking up the correspondence previously discarded when his niece had entered the room. Her read through it once and then sighed, sitting back and staring at the ceiling, meticulously detailed with patterns and plants, before re-reading the letter from his elder brother. Ambitious, to say the least. Urza folded the paper back up and slipped it into a drawer for further scrutiny.

Let Isra have her games. They might come to an end all too soon.

Isra exited the carriage, nodding politely at the driver before looking up at the open gates of the Royal Academy. It was a giant thing, a house of education for the wealthy upper class. The professors were all highly trained, the boys all very arrogant and the girls entirely selfish. And Isra? She was a bit of everything, she liked to think.

No matter how abrasive she might be with Val or the other rouges, there was no way that she would do anything to attract attention to herself. Just breathing did more than enough damage in her eyes.

Walking into the Academy, she felt the stares turn towards her and her head dropped, her pinned hair already beginning to escape their bonds, her eyes downcast. She couldn't hear the whispers, but she knew what they were saying.

She was a foreigner, after all, it was only normal that she be treated with this sort of suspicion. Isra had only been at the school for about nine months, was she seriously expecting social acceptance now? Especially when she was as anti-social as a garden rat. ? No, she kept to herself, letting the whispers fly about her dark-tanned skin, darker hair and light eyes. She was different, she knew it. Why rub it in?

Across the green, a group of young noblemen were talking about the latest equestrian lesson, highlighting the main object of their entertainment – that Carthaki girl. She had nearly fallen off her horse, muttering darkly about camels and their comforts. Even the most unskilled noble could at least mount a horse properly, but so many practices could only impart so much on the unaccustomed Carthaki. Only a few boys were staying out of the discussion, Reyes of Fenrigh and Adryan of Theaham. Reyes because he was far too mundane to even form a coherent sentence and Adryan because he was currently watching the subject of their torment, and the subject of his unrequited affections.

There she was, walking gracefully, her blue dress shifting lightly about her, highlighting her athletic frame. Her bangles were joyfully clinking together and Adryan noticed the small sapphire drops she was wearing at her ears and neck. Look over here, look over here! As if responding to his wish, the girl looked up and then around, glancing over towards the various groups spread throughout the lawn. Her eyes passed over a group of giggling girls then towards the corner where Adryan was standing. Their eyes met and Isra quickly looked away, not wanting to hold anyone's gaze for more than necessary.

Adryan felt himself blush slightly and shook his head, letting his shaggy brown-blonde hair fall into his eyes as he joined in the laughter of the group. When he looked up again, he only caught a slight glimpse of a blue dress going into the main entrance. He sighed and turned back into the group, smiling slightly and cracking another joke before letting his mind wander again to the Carthaki girl.

Classes were absolute hell for Isra. Her teachers, taking her silence for stupidity, sat her in the front of every lecture hall, despite her work. She excelled at the maths and sciences, but because of the male dominance in the field, was constantly thrown into classes such as poetry analysis, needlepoint, hostessing, and dancing. With her long limbs and her grace for traditional Carthaki courts (she was a regular attendee there, not so much in these, more crude movements the Tortallans called dancing) she had no trouble adjusting to the slower beats and simpler movements of the Corus tunes. However, she was always stuck with the old, crotchety instructor who, despite his flair for teaching the steps, could hardly perform them himself. So her reputation for being clumsy and uncultured was only enhanced because of bad luck and the grace of much more critical classmates.

Dancing; and Professor Procharus was trying to get the teenaged nobility in line.

"Stand up straight!" Came the croaked voice, loud despite issuing from such a crooked frame. "Two lines, there we go! Girls on my left, boys on my right!"

Isra stood patiently between two girls, one a wealthy merchants daughter, the other a from a fief known for their excellent horses. She watched through half-lidded eyes as the boys across from her jostled for spots away from her. The only reason she wasn't with Procharus was the upcoming Ball, honoring the anniversary of the Queen and King, married ten years ago. Her false reputation preceded her and Isra felt her temper rising as she listened to a boy two years her junior bicker over having to be the foreigners partner. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from lashing out with her sharpened tongue.

Looking up, she saw a tall, rather muscular blonde step in where the younger boy used to be, effectively stopping his protests by taking his place. He looked over at Isra who nodded slightly, showing her appreciation without actually saying anything. He smiled brightly and bowed, even though they hadn't started the dance yet, and Isra couldn't help but to at least give him a small smile back.

Adryan was bursting inside. Here he was, across from the girl he was in love with and she had smiled at him! Him! He hardly noticed Procharus issuing the time with his cane until he saw Isra move forward, to the right, and he quickly followed suit, noticing gratefully the ease with which she moved across the floor.

Isra was still smiling, realizing that this was finally her chance to prove that she wasn't the clumsy, stupid girl these nobles thought her to be. She stepped confidently through the steps, her silver metal bangles adding a nice tune to the common beat. She stepped around Adryan, twirled (perfectly aligned with all the other girls, save for a few who tripped on their long dresses or heavy outer petticoats) and took his hand as he pulled her through, so that they were standing close to each other, hand in hand.

Adryan blushed but Isra didn't notice, as she had spun down the line, to her next partner, curtsying delicately as the other boy scowled at his bad luck. Adryan was still watching Isra, barely paying attention to his new partner, completely missing the beat and allowing her to slip out of line.

Illiana tripped, and stumbled, and somehow most of the group of twenty or so nobility saw her fall, most gracelessly, to the floor. She stood up among titters of laugher and tried to join in a bit herself, but glared at Adryan as he helped her up. Adryan muttered his apologizes and Illiana smiled and made a joke about her own clumsiness.

"Falling before the Carthaki has had a chance to stumble? I must really be awful." She said, laughing as the ridicule turned from the richly dressed noble to Isra. Isra blushed and could restrain herself no longer. She gave Illiana a curtsy and smiled engagingly.

"Pardon me for not tripping sooner to save you some face," She said softly, still smiling, "I only assumed that you wanted to fall to make me look bad, and decided that if I beat you to it, you would be most upset."

Isra curtsied slightly to Procharus, who was trying hard to restore the two lines.

"Excuse me. I am late for a meeting with my Uncle."

With that excuse, Isra turned away from the Professor, who only stuttered after her as she slipped out of the room, letting the door fall softly behind her. Adryan stared after her, open-mouthed, as many of the girls comforted Illiana for the crudeness of that awful Carthaki girl. A couple of the boys were still laughing, a few were relieved and Procharus was forced to make one of the girls sit out to even out the lines.

Outside, Isra was red in the face, her jaw was stiff and her eyes could glare holes in the stone that surrounded the Academy she had just left. She had never done something like that before, always silently taking their abuse, but today it was just too much. Illiana had been the one to fall, why the hell did Illiana make it about her? It just wasn't fair!

She suddenly noticed that her silver bangles had melted together and sighed, beginning to walk home and taking off the piece of welded metal, reforming it into separate bracelets with her hands as she walked.

Uncle Urza would not be happy.


	3. Arrivals and Endings

Sorry it's taken so long. I didn't like what I was writing. So I stopped. Tell me what you think. Things are going to pick up soon, if they haven't already.

* * *

A week had passed since Isra had seen Val, and he always contacted her. She was in her room, kept immaculate by maids Isra still blushed around. Ordering people to and fro wasn't her cup of tea. She had experience in it, of course, a noble always does, but she had never been babied by anyone but her mother. Glaring at the rich silken drapery that enclosed her bed, her eyes traced outlines on the fabric.

A lion hunting. Her father, Hamas, prowling for glory, the tall lion in front of a more sickly beast, the emperor he was trying to impress. There was her mother, Isra thought, a caring woman, a giant elephant, standing watch over her brood, the matriarch that could tame Hamas and love her four children at the same time. Isra smiled. A small white blue and black bird rested on the elephants back. That was her.

Suddenly the door opened and Isra sat up quickly, her eyes widening. In came Zhari, the head of house affairs. A mid-size woman with a head of braids pulled up in a tight bun, she was normally calm and stately, now she was breathing hard from excitement. Isra stood and was surprised to see at least four ladies-in-waiting rush into her room, and begin to go through her clothes and things. She didn't mind - the only things of importance to her were on and in her desk, and the very important things were held in a solid metal case with no hinges or keyholes and more magic than necessary.

"What's going on?" Isra asked, showing her snobbish side.

"There is no time for talking." Zhari said quickly, pulling Isra up and around. "We are expecting an important guest soon, and you must prepare."

"Who? The King?" Isra said, startled as she was tugged behind a dressing room and thrown an extravagant gown that she would never even think of wearing. Jewels were sown into the fringe for Hags sake. She would be carrying ten pounds on collarbone alone if she wore it.

"No, better."

Hag. Better? Urza liked to entertain, but who on earth could cause this stir? After arguing for a more modest dress – they finally settled for a dusty rose gown with a few embroidered flowers and pearls. Not to Isra's tastes, but, she assumed, as good as it was going to get.

Isra sat and gritted her teeth as her hair was pulled at and played with. The horror, Isra thought, trying not to be ungrateful, that some people don't have this. She knew the phrase, you only don't care about money because you have it, and Isra was well aware of her arrogance. Her family could literally throw money away and still have more than they knew what to do with, but she didn't appreciate it. To her, the youngest and the only female of four, money would be given to the man who impressed her father the most, a husband who would be paid to take the girl out of the family.

Isra scowled as a particularly sensitive spot on her scalp was pulled. She got a sharp word from the girl who was trying to apply makeup.

"Why the rush?" Isra asked in between pulls.

"We have only half an hour to get you ready," – it doesn't take me that long to throw on a dress and throw my hair up for the palace nobles, Isra thought bitterly – "We must make a good impression on this guest."

"One of fathers friends?" Isra asked scathingly. It seemed like contacts were the only things that mattered to her father, and he treated his brother like an extension of his house, hoping to gain favor in the Corus courts through Urza.

"You could say that." Zhari said through the pearled hairpins she had in her mouth. Two would have fed a family for a month. Isra rolled her eyes and got another reprimand from the makeup girl. Her eyes were smudged!

The horror. Isra thought. Damn that charcoal.

Thirty two minutes later, Isra was rushed out of her room, decked in pearl drops and stripped of her bangles, something that she had forgotten to protest. Feeling almost naked despite her dresses and petticoats, Isra made her way down to the front entrance to await the unknown visitor.

Standing next to Urza, looking down the line of servants and maids dressed in their finest, Isra hoped that she would be excused soon, she really didn't want to sit through stuffy dinners. Urza was usually very accommodating to Isra, and would normally let her leave, citing classes as a good excuse. Suddenly the doors opened and Isra was snapped out of her reverie for the second time that day.

First came the hand servants, then, amid much pomp and showy hand flourishes, the expected guest came through the door. He was hard to miss.

Tall, with a rugged look about him, the man was obviously Carthaki, with dark hair and dark skin, he didn't look very much older than thirty. His eyes were startling, a deep green that looked like chips of jade. He strode through the front entrance as if he owned the house, dressed like Urza, in traditional garb, the colors reminding Isra of a forest, brown, green and gold. A lot of gold. Carthaki armbands, two rings and a necklace that looked like it could have weighed five pounds. Isra felt out of place, unnecessary amid all this noble pageantry.

The man smiled and strode up to Urza, who smiled in return. They hugged and Isra kept her head bowed.

"Urza zan Shariah." The man said, his voice deep and smooth. "It has been too long. The emperor has driven me from the rocks to the water."

Isra frowned as her Uncle spoke greeting in return, rocks to the water? This man had been all the way across the vast empire of Carthak, she guessed, the mountains in the east the ocean on the west. What sort of man was he? He gave her goose bumps, and she had hardly even been given a glance. She wasn't complaining, hoping that Urza would guide the guest somewhere else and leave her to change.

"And who is this statue?"

Isra resisted the urge to open her mouth, but she did look up angrily – a knee jerk reaction that she immediately softened into an expression of polite interest. The man raised an eyebrow and Isra waited a few seconds, hoping Urza would save her.

"I am Isra," She said, curtsying deeply to her countryman. "Daughter of Hamas je Shariah and Rejah de Shariah"

That was all that was needed, a simple name and lineage. No reason to say anything more. The man bowed in return, though not as deep as it should have been to respectfully return her long curtsy.

"Zanayd van Rahiim, I have no father. My mother was Ghaliya Rahiim."

Isra hid her confusion well. His mother was common, without title and without a suffix denoting her marriage status. How did he get so wealthy? He was obviously noble, but if his mother was common that meant he had to be honored by the emperor himself. What had this man done to make himself so notable?

Zanayd looked over Isra. Just for a second but it made her clench her jaw.

Urza took Zanayd by the arm and began to guide him to the dining parlor. Isra breathed a sigh of relief and began to sidle towards the servants exit, looking for any way out of the sightline of the tall Carthaki. Her uncle, however, turned and called her back.

"Moonflower, join us." He said, not even breaking his step or his speech with Zanayd. Isra clenched her teeth and spun on her heel, acting like a little child deprived of sweets. She took a deep breath and composed herself. Just be boring and bland, she thought, and hopefully he won't talk to you. It's too bad, Isra rolled her eyes, that it won't be hard.

Sitting down in the parlor, they were served Carthaki tea and chick peas that had been ground up and rolled into a light balls. Isra kept her head down and her feet crossed. This lasted about three minutes.

Urza, and then Zanayd, kept trying to draw her into conversation. Isra was able to provide answers in monosyllables for the first few minutes, and then their guest said something that she wouldn't possibly let go.

"Women," He had said, "I don't believe, should do anything other than what their husband tells them to do."

Isra's head snapped up so quick you could almost hear the whiplash down her spine. Her back straightened and her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Oh?" She said politely, putting her cup down and folding her hands in her lap. "Why do you think that van Rahiim?"

"Women don't understand things like men do," He explained, turning to her, his eyes turning to stone as hers turned to ice. "Money, science, magic, they are all beyond the realm of a woman."

"Of course," Isra said, sarcasm practically dripping from her mouth. Urza closed his eyes and prayed to any watching gods to shut his niece up. "Because of our sex we are obviously naturally inept as such things that need to be learned and taught. You don't believe that if a woman received the same education as a man that she would be his equal?"

"There is no such thing as equality." Zanayd said, putting down his tea as well.

"If only because of the fact that professors disallow it. You must educate those who want to learn, but hag forbid if that person is female, no! You can't teach her. She can make meals and babies but she can't form equations or a simple charm."

"You seem to feel this strongly."

"Because I am a product of a flawed system." Isra responded, her back ramrod straight and her hands still folded calmly in her lap. Zanayd looked at her curiously.

"If it has worked for thousands of years, survived drought, famine, and time, why should we alter something that doesn't need it?"

"You may not believe in equality, van Rahiim." Isra said, standing, excusing herself from the conversation. Urza stood as she did and, after a seconds pause, so did Zanayd, "but you must believe in bettering yourself." She turned and left, leaving a bitter silence as she exited the room with the last barb about Zanayd's birth sticking in the air.

"Well," Urza said, trying to recover from his nieces onslaught, although he couldn't say that Rahiim hadn't deserved it all. "She has quite the opinion, doesn't she?"

Zanayd stared after her then sat down slowly, picking his tea up and taking one last long sip, finishing his cup.

"She is strong willed." A challenge.

Isra slammed the door to her room and tore off the dress and jewelry, throwing the too-expensive pieces to the floor with a disdain that would have made Zhari cry. She dressed in her regular clothes and the pouted on her bed, wishing she could be anywhere but here.

A few minutes later came a small knock.

"Come in." Isra said meekly, hoping it wasn't Urza – he was the only one who could make her feel guilty.

Instead came in Zhari, who picked up the rose dress with pursed lips. Isra could tell she wanted to say something.

"Yes?" she muttered, falling back onto the bed, pouting like a girl half her age.

"Did you like him?" Zhari asked, looking over at Isra.

"What?" Isra asked, confused. "Why? He's not my guest."

"Urza didn't tell you?"

Hag damn. What was this? As Isra turned her head and stared blankly at Zhari, the head maid looked at the door, took a step towards her mistress and knelt down, whispering excitedly.

"Lord Shariah has been talking to the Mage," – Mage? What? – "and he has agreed to take you."

Oh hag-

"Lord Mage Rahiim is going to be your husband."

Oh no, please, no. . . .

"The wedding is in two months!" Zhari hissed, taking Isra's horror for stunned approval at the marvelous news. "Isn't that wonderful?" She asked, smiling brightly.

Isra didn't say anything. What could you say to that? She closed her eyes and tried to ignore everything around her. She couldn't do anything, and it was that, more than anything, that made her cry.

* * *

Give me some feedback. Next chapter within the week.


	4. Scandal

For the past four days Isra had done everything in her power to avoid Zanayd and learn everything about him at the same time

For the past four days Isra had done everything in her power to avoid Zanayd and learn everything about him at the same time. She had sent missives to a few of her old friends at the academy and was expecting a reply at any time. She had asked about him in her classes, she had even spent a night at the library trying to find out about this man.

She hadn't been alone in the library though, Isra thought, remembering last night. That blonde, Arean, Adlean, whatever he had said his name was, he had been in there too, although he had claimed math as his subject of study. Isra had resisted the urge to lean over and quickly solve the equation, but kept her nose in her book of Carthaki nobility, despite knowing that Zanayd wouldn't be in there.

Adryan had really been having trouble with his math. The fact that Isra had been there was just another distraction, as he kept shooting her glances from over his paper. After about ten minutes of seeing her frown into a thick volume written in Carthaki Adryan scooted his chair over and coughed a little. Isra looked up, startled.

"Yes?" She had asked, slightly defensive. She was not in the mood for an interrogation.

"Doyouknowhowtodothis?"

Isra blinked. "Yes." A bit warmer, she lightly took the sheet of paper that Adryan was working on and quickly figured it out in her head.

"Here." She said, pointing to a figure, "You just take this-"

It only took about five minutes to explain, and Adryan had to go over it a few more times in his head before he smiled and added a few more bits of information to the problem, then cleaned it up. He thanked her and then looked curiously at her before Isra asked what was wrong.

"Why aren't you taking this class?" Adryan asked, putting the paper carefully into his bag. "You already know whats going on and we've been studying for two months already."

"Are there any girls in your class?" Isra asked scathingly, shoving the book away and standing to go find some registry of mages.

"No," the boy admitted, standing as well and following Isra. "But you just solved a problem that half the class wouldn't be able to write. Just tell the professor you want to sit in on a discussion or two."

Isra shook her head and frowned. Attention wasn't what she wanted. She still needed to check her metallodes she had set throughout the nobility's houses, she also needed to finish a small embroidery of a bird. Embroidery. What a load of camel dung. "I'm busy."

Doing what? Adryan wondered, but didn't ask. That was her business anyway.

"Fair enough." He said, brushing stray bangs out of his face and looking at the subject of the books she had walked down to, "what are you looking for?"

It couldn't hurt to tell him, Isra thought, and besides, not having friends wasn't exactly what she had wanted when she had come here, that was just how things turned out. In Carthak she had friends, she had girls who loved to be around her (and whom she loved to be around, most were in fact of a much lower class than her, two were even common,) boys that they flirted with, professors they respected and things that they did. Here in Corus? No. She had Valerian, but he wasn't much of friend.

"I'm looking for a biography of a mage." She said, looking over at Adryan. He was looking up at the bookstacks and in the dim light of the lamps Isra noticed his straight nose and his strong chin, his deep brown eyes and his silly blonde hair that stuck up at odd angles. She looked away and continued down the line, looking for the elegant script of the Carthaki language – she knew that Tortall would never be so conscious as to actually investigate foreign mages.

"His name is Zanayd zan Rahiim." Irsa kept looking over the books, her silver bangles warming up on her wrists as she became uncomfortable. She tugged at a stray strand of hair and scowled "He is Carthaki and was born common. Hag take it all." She muttered.

Adryan nodded and reached up, out of Isra's sightline. He pulled down a newer volume than the list of nobility she had been pouring through. It was elegantly bound and Isra immediately recognized the Carthaki word for mage and university before the boy had even taken it off the shelf.

"Is this-"

"Thank you!" Isra said breathlessly, quickly snatching the book from the boys hands and turning to stride over to a cushy armchair and sit down. Adryan sat down next to her, leaning over and looking at the bright script. Isra flipped to the back of the book and looked at the index of mages.

Rahiim. Hag.

"What does it say?"

Isra quickly flipped to the registrys entry on zan Rahiim, Zanayd. She could tell just by holding this book that it was enchanted to only show the truth and knew that every year something like this was updated to include more information on the mages listed inside.

"He was born twenty seven years ago-" younger than she thought, why did he look so old? "To a whore in lower Jarak. His father remains unknown." She skimmed through the passage. "Discovered by a thief who recognized his magics, when he was ten he found out about a traveling group of mages. He approached them after the show and demanded to be taken with them. Oh by the gods. . ." Isra stuttered

"What?"

"At age ten, with no training, Zanayd was able to overpower three fully trained university mages."

Adryan whistled. "Well I'll be dammed. He has to have an amazing amount of magic in him to do that."

"He nearly crushed them with an invisible wall."

"Mithros."

"Youngest ever admitted into the university, youngest graduate – all mages need to wait until they're at least twenty to assume the position of Lord Mage, it's a law –" Isra explained to Adryan. "this man achieved the title on his birthday."

"What's he doing now?"

"It says," Isra skipped down Zanayds long list of accolades, "He's currently the number-two mage in the country, second only to the High Mage Heram. He only answers to the Heram and the Emperor himself. He is the Liaison of the Holy to the Empire. He goes through the country-" verbatim, "protecting those who need it and acting as a one-man army for the Emperor. He has traveled to almost every city in Carthak, to every providence and has only been overcome by twenty mages at the infamous Eastern battle of Niupouno. By far one of the strongest magic-users in the empire, if not the known lands, Zanayd has taken a well-deserved hiatus and is currently in Corus." Isra shut her mouth suddenly, closing her eyes.

There was no way she was going to ever get out of this mess.

"Mithros." Adryan said, sitting back. "that's quite the man you choose to look up." He took the book from Isra's hands and walked back to where he had taken it off the shelf. He turned back to where Isra was still sitting still, her eyes half-lidded. She looked sad, Adryan thought, helpless, he blushed slightly and looked away, awkwardly sticking his hands in his pockets. Beautiful.

A few seconds passed and he leaned down and gently took her hand. Isra let herself be pulled up and lead to the doors of the library. Adryan bent down and picked up her things, holding them.

"Would you like me to escort you home?" He asked, hoping she would say yes, and he would just get to be near her a bit longer.

"No, I really. I can take care of myself." Isra said, taking her things. Adryan was crest fallen but he figured that he nothing would happen if he didn't make it happen. Before Isra had the chance to turn all the way around, her stepped in front of her and turned her back to him.

He swiftly bent down and kissed her lightly, his lips just barely pushing against hers.

Isra's blue eyes widened and a bright blush came to her cheeks. She stuttered and quickly stepped around the boy. Rushing out of the library, out of the academy and down the single block to her house. Her metallodes could wait. Embroidery could be burned, schoolwork could be ignored.

What had happened? They both thought later.

Thank the mercies that the night had ended uneventfully. Urza had taken Zanayd out for a tour, and Isra was grateful that he hadn't mentioned anything about the marriage yet. Zanayd himself hadn't even alluded to it. Why should he?

He had everything he could ever want. Fame, money, ascension, power, education. He might be one of the most eligible bachelors in all of Carthak. Isra could think of why he had accepted this marriage proposal. He wanted status. Tying himself to the Shariah's would surely solidify his name in the books of nobility.

Isra scowled. A name. He wasn't marrying her; he was taking a name and a few camels to get a hag-dammed name. Isra looked outside.

It was time to get ready for school. The Bicentenary Ball was only a few days away and almost every academy teacher was in a tizzy trying to make sure that their students were perfect for the anniversary. Oh well. Isra glanced over at the dress and petticoats that Zhari had laid out for her (Zhari knew that Isra didn't like being dressed, but insisted on aiding her in some way in her daily preparations.) and decided that maybe today's outfit wasn't so bad.

Dressing, she sighed and then opened the door, getting ready to step out. A rather large pair of boots stood in her doorway. Isra's eyes widened and her eyes slowly moved upwards to meet jade eyes.

Manners.

She stepped backwards and curtsied. "My lord." She muttered, despite their difference in rank. He had the power to destroy her, in more ways than one.

Zanayd was just about to knock when the door opened. As Isra curtsied, he took the time to sight the room. He wanted to know if she had any charms around her. He was surprised when, instead of seeing the multifarious colors and dull shapes noblegirls normally have around their room, he was nearly blinded by a giant flash of silver.

"My Lady." Zanayd said, perfectly stoic. "I have come to ask if I may escort you to the Academy."

Isra looked up and smiled slightly, knowing her every move would be reported to Urza. Besides, if he had come here her mother knew about it. More than anything, Isra didn't want to upset her mother. Her fathers political games be dammed. Her mother didn't deserve someone like him, and Isra knew that if she messed this up her mother would not only be crushed, but also be subject to who knows what from Hamas' temper. It was where she got it from, after all.

"I would be honored, my Lord." A little stiff, but she wasn't an actress. She took his proffered arm and stepped lightly outside her room, trying to look as dull as possible.

Zanayd, however was looking at Isra in a different light. The Gift emanated from her, but it was untrained, wild and hard. He looked down at her (He was almost a head taller than Isra) and tried to pick out exactly what was magicked on her. Her wrists glowed brightly, and Zanayd looked at her bangles, very traditional for a Carthaki woman, though considered very common for a noblewoman. Pure silver.

Metalmage? A noblegirl? No wonder she hadn't any training. No one would want to admit something like that. Metalworking was for blacksmiths and commoners, useless to nobility.

"How long do you plan to stay in Corus, my Lord?"

"Zanayd, please." Carathaki. Did he not want to be overheard?

Camel spit.

"Zanayd?"

"A few months. I plan to Go back to the University at Carthak to teach."

"Oh?" Isra said, not quite a question, but enough of an accent to be considered one. A few months? That was all she had before she was shipped back to the Capital. A few more months of freedom.

They stepped out of the house and Zanayd waved off the carriage, instructing the driver to bring Lady Shariah's books to her class directly. Isra took a moment to look over at what Zanayd was wearing. Nothing that would mark him for anything but a wealthy Carthaki. His hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, his greens and browns showed off his skin and green eyes.

He wasn't bad to look at. A few scars on his arms and one on his face, a small thin mark cutting his left eyebrow in two and going back into his hairline. Zanayd was handsome, in a rugged way, defined nose, deepset eyes, small wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

"What do you study at the Academy?" Zanayd asked Isra, hoping that this girl would show some of the spark that he had seen earlier. He would marry her, she was as eligible as he was, if not more so. She had a title, a powerful father, connections in Corus (hopefully she was as socially forward as either her father or uncle), a Gift and an opinion.

Isra tried hard not to scowl at her classes and managed to restrain her expression to a light frown. "History of Tortall, Needlepoint, Poetry Analysis and Appreciation, Manners and Etiquette and Dancing."

Zanayd didn't notice her expression, but did sense the tightening of her arm as she listed her subjects. He could see the Academy a block away.

"You don't seem pleased with your classes." Something. All he wanted was a personality.

"Hardly." Isra spat, not even bothering to recover her temper.

"What would you rather spent your time doing?"

"Something useful," Isra scowled, "Math, anatomy, anything other than classes useful for less than an hour a day." She omitted Magic, despite knowing (and dreading) that he probably already knew about her Gift.

"Did you frequent the Carthaki dance halls?" Zanayd asked politely, trying not to tell her that her classes were just fine the way they were. Isra wouldn't need to know things like figures and fractures.

Isra knew that this was a distraction, but continued walking, keeping up the conversation.

"I loved them."

They walked in silence the last few meters before they walked through the gates and up to the academy building. Isra slid her arm out from Zanayd, noticing the throng of her classmates staring. She looked up at the man, her eyes not quite ice. Zanayd looked around at the courtyard.

"Have I caused a scene?" He asked, slightly amused.

"It would appear that way." Isra muttered, looking down. Just what she needed. Hag take him, this was not going to be good.

Zanayd smirked and leaned down to Isra's ear as she tried hard not to blush or even react.

"I'll leave you to your classes then." He whispered. It wasn't the scandalous talk her classmates surely assumed it was, "I shall see you at dinner."

Hag.

Zanayd smiled and as he stepped down off the steps of the Academy, kissed Isra on her forehead. She didn't move and he smiled, walked down and across the lawn, all eyes either on him or his betrothed, who had fled into the building.

Adryan stared at the door. Illiana stared at Zanayd. Everyone stared.

Who was this?


	5. Dance, Dance

Thank you to my review. I appreciate you.

* * *

Isra had made it through her first few classes without questioning, and she was beyond grateful. A few girls had come up to her during lunch but she shot them a frosty glare and they were grateful to get out of the way. Her wrists were burning and she was lucky that she didn't have welts where her bracelets were.

However, during manners Illiana managed to get the plate next to Isra. A position normally avoided like the plague because it meant you would have to hold a conversation with the person nearest you. Plates were paired to make life easier. Because these Torrallans are so dull that they can't talk to two people at that same time, Isra thought, trying hard not to glare at the 'professor'.

They were served, their hands washed and their goblets full (of grape juice, right now, real wine would be poured at the Ball) before the middle-aged Lady Dessai indicated that they should start talking. Isra, social butterfly that she was, immediately grabbed her cup and wished that it was real alcohol, taking an extended draught that really should have taken just a second.

Illiana humphed and Isra ignored her, starting to gently carve the meat on her plate. Isra didn't want attention, but she would incite it if she really didn't want to talk about something. Like Zanayd.

"So who was that man with you this morning?" Illiana hissed, her eyes wide.

Isra narrowed her eyes and frowned slightly, her full lips thinning as she pursed them in annoyance.

"A cousin." She spat out through gritted teeth.

"I don't believe you." Illiana said, scooting her chair closer to Isra. The other girl smoothed out the silk of her light blue dress. It was almost a white color, she really didn't want any trash near it. "Who was he?" Illiana asked again.

"A cousin. If you don't believe me, take it up with him." Isra said, her jaw clenched as she continued to cut her food. Her cutlery was heating up, her bangles already leaving sunburn-like pain on her tanned skin, luckily it wouldn't show.

Illiana crossed her arms, very childish for one of the wealthiest nobles in Tortall. "Well at least tell me what you were saying. I couldn't understand a word of that nonsense."

Too much. "That nonsense, you ignorant, puerile little child is one of the oldest languages on this land. It's beautiful and elegant and far too complex for you to ever understand the intricacies of." Isra hissed, not looking at Illiana, still concentrating on her food. "It's original derivatives held so much power just in their uttering that now the base of out language has been locked away to protect anyone from ever revealing how to unravel this universe and others."

Illiana looked startled at Isra's outburst. Twice now she had been insulted by this foreigner. Who did she think she was.

"So if I were you," Isra said, glaring at Illiana, "I would stop spilling that nonsense from my mouth for fear of staining my dress."

Illiana's mouth was slightly open but she shut it quickly, turning back to her food.

"Well if you won't tell me, I _shall_ ask him myself." Illiana said, suitable chastised but ultimately convinced that she would end up with what she wanted anyway.

"What are you talking about," Isra asked, taking a small bite of the fowl on her plate.

"He's sitting in on the dancing class." The Totallan girl smirked at Isra's obvious surprise. "I saw him talking to Procharus a few hours after he dropped you off." Illiana smiled. "Can I at least get a name?"

"Why do you care?" Isra asked, slamming down her fork and knife, louder than necessary, causing a few stares from the other students. Even Dessai stared but ignored it. Isra was sending a look at Illiana that could have iced an active volcano. Too bad her wrists and hands were on fire.

"I'm tired of these boys," Illiana said, smiling in what she thought was a secretive, including smile. Isra thought it made her look like a stuck pig. "I want someone who can handle me."

Isra rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry to be the one to destroy your ego, but I can assure you, you wouldn't be able to handle that man."

"And you can?"

Isra glared at Illiana.

"This conversation is over." She stated, taking another drink from her goblet before again being disappointed. "I suggest you do something else before I shove something hot and pointy down your throat."

Illiana shrugged and turned to her plate, leaving Isra to simmer. Dancing. What was that about? Hag take it all.

Her next class was embroidery, but halfway through she was saved by a knock at the door. The Lady who taught the class had to stop mid-lecture on how to stitch a leaves veins properly to allow the messenger in.

"Lady Shariah?" Isra stood, "I am to escort you to the dance hall."

Isra dutifully followed the messenger not even thinking about Illiana or Zanayd, just grateful beyond belief to be out of that dull class.

Her happy feeling went away as soon as she stepped into the dance hall. There was Procharus fawning over Zanayd, who stood, admiring the architecture and humoring the older man. Isra looked back at the door, but it had already closed. She sighed and stepped forward, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible.

"There she is." Zanayd said, without any excitement, as if he was just remarking on the weather.

Here I am, Isra thought dully, partially ignoring Zanayd. She did a small curtsy towards Procharus.

"You sent for me?"

"Yes I did my dear." Procharus wheezed, hobbling over to the girl. "The prestigious Lord Rahiim has just informed me that you and he both know some traditional Carthaki dances."

"We do." Isra said slowly, not liking at all where this was going.

"It would be a fabulous cultural experie. . excenper. . . .erxeper. . .event if the other students could se how other countries conduct their social balls." Procharus stuttered. "would you mind terribly if you and Lord Rahiim preformed for us today?"

Yes! Yes, Yes, Yes!

"Not at all Professor."

"Delightful!" Procharus exclaimed, clapping his veined hands together. "If you need time to prepare costumes, or musicians or dances or anything at all, I will be more than happy to assist you."

Zanayd smiled slightly. "Thank you sir, you are most kind," He said, bowing slightly.

"Not at all, not at all." Procharus muttered, sitting down slowly. "Don't let me disturb you."

Isra smiled at Procharus and then turned to Zanayd.

"What are you doing?" She asked in Carthaki, still smiling. Maybe not being understood was a good thing.

"Learning about the culture of Tortall, dear Isra." Zanayd responded. "I have a outfit suitable for dancing in my trunk. I'm sure you brought a sari or two?"

"If I said no?"

"I would give you one."

He was serious. Isra narrowed her eyes and curtsied, muttering a nearly unintelligible string of curses in Carthaki.

"Shall we do a performance or a dance?" Zanayd asked politely, smiling and ignoring the girls foul mouth. A performance was a play-esque dance done between four or less people. Very many were love stories. A dance was just that, but normally required a group to look good.

"A performance would be best." Isra muttered, smoothing out the silk of her dress again. Looking stupid wasn't high on her to-do list.

"Excellent. What do you suggest."

"Something by Jeoji," Isra said. He was famous for his love stories, but the poetry his dances evoked was breathtaking. Hopefully Zanayd would be the uncultured lout she took him for and suggest Faran, a more popular but less creative maestro.

"Beautiful-"

Damn.

"Would you agree to be Gulran in _Rose_?" Zanayd asked, smiling at her, surprised at her suggestion.

"Red isn't my color." Isra said sulkily, pouting in Carthaki, despite being in love with _Rose_.

"Wear whatever you want." Zanayd said, snapping his fingers. Less than two seconds later three servants came out of different doors and bowed.

"Lord Mage." They said in unison, speaking in Common.

"Mage!"

Isra and Zanayd stared at Procharus, who had been woken up by the arrival of the servants. He stared around wildly and Isra held a hand over her mouth, trying hard not to laugh.

Zanayd shook his head and turned to his servants. "Go to the house where I am staying. Retrieve the dancing outfit from my entourage. Ask the head of the household if she may have any sari's suitable to play Gulran. And if anyone had brought along a sitar, I would love to have it here."

Isra rolled her eyes. Arrogant bastard. Zanayd turned to her after the men had left.

"Would you care to practice?"

Isra clenched her jaw and tried hard not to lash out at Zanayd. "As it goes, my Lord." She hissed, not too inviting.

Zanayd smiled. Isra thought he looked like a dog.

The dancing class filed in a little less than an hour later, muttering and laughing to themselves. They were gossiping about the foreigner, talking about the ball, wondering when the boys would ask the girls, wondering which boys would ask which girls. Talking about the professors and the king and queen. And that gorgeous squire, Prince Kieran, who was sure to show up for his parents anniversary.

Isra was on one end of the room, behind a door, and Zanayd was on the other end of the room, behind his own door. The girl scowled and pulled at her sari. It was red at the edge, but faded to a pure white. The costume was lightweight and easy to move around in, loose, baggy pants pooled around her bare feet, there was a band of fabric around her breasts that wrapped around behind her neck and tied off elegantly, bangles decorated her forearms and golden makeup surrounded her eyes and highlighted her cheekbones. Her back and midriff were bare except for a thin gold necklace that went around her neck, melted into one chain and then wrapped around her stomach. Why on earth did she agree to do this?

A hush came over the room and the doors in front of both Zanayd and Isra opened. The sitar started to play, and a slow drumbeat followed. Isra took a deep breath. She had just done this about half an hour ago. _Rose_ had returned quicker than she expected. Four, two . . . go!

She smiled. Let the Tortallans gossip all they wanted. She was going to have fun. With a run and a jump, she tumbled onto stage, doing a flip in mid-air, landing on her feet to the beat of a tambourine. She heard gasps, but didn't care.

Arm out, she twirled, the bangles on her arms clinking together. She balanced on one foot and stepped back, sliding around in a circle as if sowing seeds in a garden. Standing, Isra lowered her shoulder and looked away, turning around and dancing to the other side of the stage as Zanayd came out from his end of the room, staring at her.

_Rose_ was a masterpiece, the love story of a young gardener and a traveling beggar, known only as Rin. He falls in love with her grace and caring, while she admires his wit and his knowledge of places she has never been. Gulran, the girls, father forbids their love and when he discovers the beggar eating at their table, throws him into the street.

For three years Gulran tends to her flowers, turning away anyone around her. Then, suddenly, Rin returns, but he is not the beggar she knew. Rin is actually the crown Prince Nazarin, heir to the empire of Carthak. Long story short; Isra always thought, the boy gets the girl.

Nevertheless, the piece was sensual and seductive, teasing and tantalizing. And Isra could dance. Zanayd as well, was very good, but his footwork could not compete with the elegance and grace that Isra embodied. She stole the stage, even when she was in the background. The dance ended when Zanayd lifted Isra up and spun her around, to strong drumbeats that suddenly ended as Isra's feet touched the ground.

For a few seconds Isra and Zanayd stared at each other. She didn't feel anything but his arms on her waist and for an instant he thought he felt something else. Then they turned and bowed, and the small gathering of teenaged nobility went wild. They clapped and stamped and cheered.

Adryan clapped dutifully, as did Illiana. Neither of them liked what they saw.


	6. The Hits Keep Coming

Thanks to my reviewer. Keep em coming.

p.s.

I love this chapter. Tell me if you do to.

* * *

Isra walked home by herself, staying after at the school, citing research for a class as the excuse to escape Zanayd. Her classmates, unfortunately, wanted to talk to her, all of a sudden interested in her now that she had done something new and exciting. Isra narrowed her eyes lightly, smiled, curtsied and as quickly and icily polite as possible, exited the Academy.

Walking to her house, she remembered her metallodes and quickly took a detour, turning on her toes into a small alley normally used for the household help. She had placed lodes in six nobles' houses, small devices that could transmit and record voices in the form of magnetic fields and relay them back to Isra. It had taken her years of practice to master; her friends in Carthak loved them. Only other specialized metal mages could even sense what they were; every other Gifted with the Sight would just see a small charm or trinket, forgotten in the back corner or under a bed.

The lodes were tuned to specific tones, so Isra wouldn't have to sort through day's worth of conversation and talk. The first lode had nothing to offer, the second had a few discussions of marriage, again, nothing. The third talked of Prince Kieran's arrival. He would be here tomorrow, with his knight-Master, and both were assured prime tent space in the yard of – Hag curse it all – the Academy. Apparently, the lode revealed through the wall of the expansive house, the training yards had been closed to set up entertainment and an outdoor ballroom. Hag, Isra frowned; this meant that no one would be able to shut up during the lessons for the next three days, which was when the ball would be held.

The fourth revealed a marvelous scandal between the Duchess of Stonebridge and the Marquis of Needle Pointe. Both rich families with political ambitions. Isra smiled and continued walking, now a good seven or so blocks from her house. It hadn't started to get dark but she knew that if she stayed out too much longer Urza would worry. Two more and both were relatively close. The fifth one had nothing to offer and the sixth one had a preteen girl complaining about the state of her ball dress, Kieran was causing quite a fuss, even with girls who had no chance at all. Isra rolled her eyes and was about to break off the connection when she heard a whisper. She blinked and frowned, then took a deep breath and concentrated harder; tired from all the use she had given her Gift today.

'she's wealthy. . . . . money. . . . hire the right. . . . . . our kind. . . keep it in the ring. . . . " Isra shook her head. Everything was fuzzy. This was a very quiet conversation. A pause in the jumbled speech and Isra realized that this had just happened and the lode had played back the last three minutes of conversation. This was happening right now! The lode didn't record silence.

A few beads of sweat formed on Isra's brow and on the insides of her wrists as she sent out a stronger signal to the metal.

"Don't worry about it." A voice said. It was strong and deep, an older man. "I have connections for this sort of thing. We won't be connected at all to the Rogue."

Isra's mouth dropped and her eyes widened. This was far too immersed.

"But this is a criminal offence," came another tone. Higher, worried, slightly reedy, his voice came over shaky. "Kidnapping," a hiss. "Ransom? Are you sure about this Yuren?"

"Stop your whining." This was a new voice, a higher pitched, commanding tone, that of a woman convinced of her superiority. Isra bit her lip and listened harder. "The girl won't know what's coming. Everything's planned and payments have already been delivered. You just need to play along for a few hours."

"I don't think-"

"Silence." The deeper voice again. "Nothing more out of you. You shall do as we say."

A pause and Isra held her breath.

"Yes Father."

Isra had heard enough. She turned and fled out of the back alley, taking a few more turns so that she could stay in the shadows of the servants' paths. She slipped in a small puddle and barely managed to catch herself before she fell, throwing her hands out to the wall. Recovering her breath and her posture, she picked up her dress and continued to run, her eyes wide and her hair escaping the confines of her pins.

Kidnapping!

She was home a few minutes later and dashed in through the side entrance, across the small patio in the yard and up a staircase, trying to act calm in case anyone passed her on her way to her room. Luckily no one saw Isra and she shut her door softly, taking a deep breath, her eyes wide as she put her back against the door, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.

Hag. This was too much. She glanced at her hands. Blood. Isra almost started to panic before she realized that she must have scraped them on the wall when she had nearly fallen. Glancing at her dress she scowled, her bad humor replacing her fear as she saw that smudged red stains on her pretty dress.

Dammit all. Isra frowned quickly changed and cleaned her hands (They weren't as bad as the blood would suggest, and easily covered with a puff of powder), now clothed in a pure white dress that had a dark red flower stitched into the back shoulder. It had a neckline that showed her shoulders and plunged deeper than her normal wear, but it would do. She was modest by nature, so the skin shown wasn't nearly as scandalous as she thought it was.

A knock came on her door as she was re-pinning her hair and her eyes widened as she shoved the last tendril of hair behind her ear. "Come in" she said, trying to sound calm, although she was still breathing hard and trying to recover her normal skin tone.

Zanayd pushed open the door and Isra resisted the urge to scowl. "I have come to escort you to dinner," the man said, bowing slightly, a few strands of his hair falling into his face. He wore it lose, and the dark brown waves curled around his face nicely.

"Of course." Isra said, taking his arm and letting him walk her downstairs. Dinner had been formal for the last few days, as tradition dictated with guests. Now, however, Urza had returned the household to light fare, bread and cheese, some fruits and a few sweetmeats, simple and filling. They sat outside, enjoying the cool breeze.

The final course, a desert of chilled mangoes and sweet rice had nearly disappeared from their plates when Urza cleared his throat loudly, making Isra and Zanayd both turn towards him. He smiled lightly at both of them and folded his hands in front of them, leaning forward.

"Now Isra," He said, looking at his niece, "I'm sure you're wondering why Lord Rahiim is here."

Isra's eyes widened as if she was interested. Really she was surprised. Now? Why now? She was just recovering from her previous shock and Urza really wanted to tell her this _now_?

"You're becoming a young lady, and your father had thought it time for you to be wed."

Oh Hag, why?

Isra tried hard not to look at Zanayd, instead focusing on her uncle.

"Lord Rahiim has agreed to take you in marriage."

Everything else fell away. Isra could only nod and bite her tongue. She felt blood and didn't care. Urza explained how she would be well cared for, what a lush life she would have, the care Zanayd would be able to provide. Zanayd looked at Isra and then down to his lap. He didn't enjoy this awkward explanation very much more than Isra did. Urza was the only one unaffected and he continued to speak.

"Here." Isra's uncle said kindly, passing the girl a piece of paper. "This is a missive from your mother." Isra took the letter and stood impassively.

"Goodnight my lords," She muttered, the men standing as she bobbed a small curtsy and left.

Zanayd watched her go and then sat, glancing at Urza. The older man was leaning back in his chair and looking at the dark sky.

"That wen't well."

The mage looked back at the door. If he said so. It didn't matter in the long run – Isra _would_ be his wife. For some reason, he wanted her not to hate the idea.

Up in her room, Isra allowed Zhari to change her for bed, her mothers letter on her bed. Silently, she thanked the housekeeper and lit a lamp, unfolding the paper as she sat at her desk.

'_My dearest daughter_;' It began

'_By now you know of the wedding plans between you and the Lord Mage Rahiim. He is a good man and will take very good care of you-_' Isra's eyes began to water, and she held the letter at a distance, not wanting to smudge her mothers elegant script, _'he will give you a life you have never dreamed of. I am sorry I could not be there to tell you myself, but I am sure you will understand, if not already, then in time. Dearest Isra, I love you more than life itself_,' Hag, why did this happen to her, Isra's tears began to fall and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep quiet. '_please do not hate me for this,_' never- '_I persuaded your father to go with the lesser of two evils. _

_Forever yours,_

_Mother'_

Isra put down the letter and crawled into bed. Please, she thought, just let me go to sleep.

The graveyard Hag must have heard Isra, because only a few hours later a loud 'thok' on her window woke her up with a start. Grumbling to herself, Isra opened the misted glass and glared out into the alley.

Val. The young man was standing underneath a streetlamp, bold as brass, staring up into her window. Isra frowned, threw him a very inappropriate gesture and tossed the window curtains closed. She slipped outside and through a side door, thankful that the gate hadn't been re-magicked.

"Lets make this quick, shall we?" Isra said, still in her silk night gown.

"You read my mind." Val smiled, crossing his arms and staring down at her. He had nice arms. Isra frowned and shook her head. She was more tired that she thought. No mention of the kidnapping, that wouldn't sit well with her.

The rogue was involved. Shouldn't she have someone on her side? Val wasn't exactly one to be counted as a friend.

"There's an affair between two powerful nobles. I'll give you names if I get a part of the extortion money." Isra said dully, rubbing at her eyes.

"Done. I'll tell the Rogue."

Isra nodded and yawned. Good.

"Is that all you have?"

"Is that all you want?" Isra asked, a bit beyond reasoning.

Val frowned and tilted his neck to the side, looking at the girl. Her shoulders were hunched and her eyes were still a little red and puffy. Crying? He reached out and put a hand on her arm, causing her to look at him, confused.

"Are you feeling alright?" Val asked, his voice lowering as Isra turned her eyes away from his, blushing under his scrutiny.

"Fine." She said tartly. "A lot of things are happening."

"Such as?" Val looked around and then, putting an arm around Isra, led her into the small alley that lead from the street to her house, driving them into the shadows where they wouldn't be seen.

Isra closed her eyes. Boys. Would anyone give her some peace? "The Ball." Isra said dully. Val almost looked surprised before squeezing Isra's shoulder

"You're lying."

"I am." Isra opened her eyes slowly and stared emotionless at Val. "Why do you care?"

Val rolled his eyes. "Fine, I was just trying to be nice." He muttered, scuffing his feet on the worn stones. Isra watched him. Big baby. She smiled slightly and gave him a soft punch in the stomach.

"Boys." She said, laughing a little as he mock-reeled from the tap.

"Is that the problem?" Val asked, mimicking Isra as she leaned against the wall surrounding the garden.

"Mostly."

Val raised an eyebrow.

"I'm engaged."

Val's mouth dropped. It took him a moment to recover but not before he stuttered out a small 'oh' of surprise. He stuttered and then rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not looking at Isra. Isra pushed off the wall and began walking towards the door.

"Congratulations," Val said, following her.

"I'm over it." Isra muttered, staring at the floor. Val started to say something and then stopped as Isra opened the door. She looked up at him, pushing her hair out of her face. She looked so sad, so beaten, Val's icy heart almost melted.

"Come here." He sighed, stepping closer to her and wrapping his arms around her. Isra's eyes widened and then she relaxed, putting her arms around Val. They held each other for a while before Isra took a deep breath and pushed the boy away.

"I need to go." She said softly, looking up at her room. Isra grabbed hold of the already-open gate and then glanced at Val. "Thanks," she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Anytime." Val nodded. Turning away. "I'll get the paper." – The small slip of parchment the Rogue did all his deals on.

"You better." She mumbled. Val laughed and waved, although Isra had already slipped inside. She made her way inside and up the stairs, her bare feet treading lightly on the stone steps. Her door was closed and she opened it softly, her head down.

"Gods!" Isra suddenly exclaimed, looking up and jumping back against her door. As if out of nowhere Zanayd's tall figure emerged from the shadows, dark jade flames licking at his fingers. "What are you doing in here?" Isra asked, too startled to be angry.

"Who was that?" Zanayd growled, his eyes narrowed to slits, his voice dark and menacing.

"Just a friend."

"You couldn't talk to him at school?"

"I-"

"Don't _lie _to me, Isra." Zanayd slammed a fist against her desk and Isra was frightened to see a small burn mark where his hand touched the wood. Oh Hag, what was she to tell him. "Is he your lover, Isra, is he?" The man hissed taking a step towards the girl.

"No, of course not."

"Then who is he?" Zanayd hissed, taking another step towards the girl. Isra's eyes were wide and scared. She couldn't tell Zanayd who Val really was, she couldn't tell Zanayd who he wasn't. She was stuck in between a rock and a hard place and there was really no way out of it. Isra's eyes filled with tears and they slowly started to fall as her eyes darted from side to side, as if looking for a real escape to the posed question.

"Zanayd, please-" She began, before she cut herself off, as the man stepped closer to her, now less than an arms length away from her person. "Please," Isra said again, biting her lip. "He's just a friend, I promise you."

The man's eyes softened slightly at the sight of Isra's tears and for the second time in the night Isra felt herself being held in a mans arms.

"You are mine." Zanayd whispered softly into her ear. "I don't like sharing."

Why? Mother, why?

Isra's tears couldn't stop. She buried her face in the rich fabric of Zanayds shirt and let him hold her as she cried. Her hands held onto his shirt and she let herself be pulled closer as the tears came softly. Everything that had been bothering her for the past six months came out.

No friends, hating her father for getting rid of her, tricking her uncle. These secrets she found out – the kidnapping! – Hag, how did that slip away from her? Her engagement, her desperate bid for attention with Val. He never paid attention to her anyway. It was one night, what did he care about a drunken noble? The need she felt to outshine her perfect brothers, but how could she ever? Little education and little opportunity. She had all the wealth in the world, everything she could ever ask for and she couldn't get what she really wanted.

Isra laughed through the tears. She really was a spoiled brat.

A few minutes later Isra calmed down enough to pull herself away from Zanayd, who had one hand in her hair and the other pulling him close to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear, bending down. " I didn't mean to. . ."

He sounded as confused as she felt.

"I'm fine." Isra said, twisting away from Zanayd, who let her go gently. She crossed her arms and stared at the bed, not looking at the man in her room "I just." A pause "I just need to sleep."

Zanayd nodded and bent down, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek.

"I'm still sorry." He whispered, heading towards her door. He opened it and looked back at Isra. He opened his mouth, as if about to say something and Isra looked at him.

"Good night."

Isra nodded and Zanayd left.

The girl shook her head, wiped her eyes and nose and crawled back into bed.

How did this happen to her?


End file.
